


Gospel Truth

by SeasonsofLauren



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Captive/Captor Relationship, Character Development if you squint REALLY hard, Forced Relationship, Hades!Wade, M/M, Persephone!Peter, Slight Depiction of Beating, Slight depiction of violence, Spideypool Big Bang, greek mythology!au, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 07:30:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11778336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeasonsofLauren/pseuds/SeasonsofLauren
Summary: Peter is the child of the freaking God of Gods for Tony’s sake, so how the hell did he get roped into this eternal trap known as marriage to the worst beast a man could imagine, the King of the Underworld: Wade.A Greek mythology AU with Persephone!Peter and Hades!Wade





	Gospel Truth

**Author's Note:**

> This is my submission for the Spideypool Big Bang!
> 
> [Link to the fanart ](http://dracoarties.tumblr.com/post/164181518074/title-gospel-truth-author-seasonsoflauren) by the extremely talented DracoAries

“Why am I even here, Pops?”

 

Peter’s eyes are rubbed raw from drying tears, but now he’s just too tired and frustrated to continue crying. It’s given him nothing but more emotional drain for the past couple days. It’s obvious that Steve is feeling the weight of the whole situation as he sighs on the other side of the Iris message, shaky hands running through his sandy hair as his face is weighed down by the stress clear through the flickering water message. To be fair, Steve is losing his son through this whole situation which is not easy for a man who has lost everything, but Peter is losing  _ the rest of his life _ . 

  
  


Steve’s voice is soft, trying to keep Peter calm as he knows too well from the past hour of their conversation that Peter is susceptible to falling into fits of anger and frustration to mask the hopelessness of their situation. His hesitation only adds to Peter’s frustration though, reminding him how powerless  _ every one _ is, not just Peter. Steve’s tiredness is clear through his voice though, and it almost makes Peter feel bad, even if this is nowhere near either of their faults, “I’m sorry this is happening to you Petey, but there’s nothing I can do. Tony already agreed to the proposal, and I swear that I’m doing everything I can, but there’s not much. I’ve already told you, they swore on the River of Styx.”

 

Feeling the pure rage as that damning phrase is repeated to him for the tenth time in the past sixty minutes, Peter huffs out, “What is the point in being the  _ God of Gods _ if you can’t even protect your own son. What does he even  _ do _ , besides getting hammered and messing up everyone’s life?”

 

“I know you’re upset Petey, but please don’t talk about your dad like that. You know he has a lot going on.”

 

“I’m sorry, pops,” Letting out a long sigh and running his hand through his hair, the mirror image of what his pops did a few moments earlier, Peter thinks about the situation his dad has thrusted him into. He is obviously stuck in this relationship with a nonexistent chance of escape and little can be done due to his father’s dumb choice, most likely drunk on ambrosia infused scotch, but he refuses to roll over and let half his year be stolen away by his monster of a  _ husband,  _ if you can even call him that. Who even thinks of stuff like this, roping someone into a marriage against their will and forcing them to stay in their kingdom with no escape for six months out of the year for the rest of their life, a literal eternity? Not someone Peter wants to be married to, that’s who. Peter is so tired of this, having gone through the rolling tides of fear, anger, and sadness, and this fact is just as clear in his voice as the stress is on Steve’s face, “Have you guys tried talking to Pepper?”

 

Although it may be a little insensitive, okay a lot insensitive to bring up your father’s  _ actual _ wife to your pops and remind him that he is simply the ‘other woman’, Peter’s desperation to get out of this awful situation is gripping his every choice and the most plausible decision is to ask the goddess of marriage to annul this. Peter’s regret in bringing up his dad’s marriage is immediate as he looks at Steve, who is looking away from the message to somewhere in the distance, getting the far off look in his eyes he gets whenever Tony’s ‘activities’ outside of their relationship are brought up and Peter feels terrible for even mentioning it. In a quiet, soft voice that gives a totally different feeling than the one moments before, Steve says, “You know her. If she was going to do something to help, she would have by now; who knows if it’s because she can’t or she won’t. I’m sorry kid. I never wanted something like this to happen to you. This was never supposed to happen.”

 

Peter wishes that he could reach through the shimmering water screen to give his obviously distressed pops a hug and acknowledge all of the stress that he’s going through in this situation too, but he can’t, and the attempt alone would just end the call. No matter how mad Peter is at the world for the position he has been shoved into, he can never be mad at Steve, “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

 

With a smile that Peter can tell is weak even through the flickering Iris message, Steve says just barely above a whisper, that nearly breaks Peter’s heart, “You shouldn’t have to be. It’s been twenty-two centuries; I should be used to it by now.” 

 

“No you shouldn’t, pops. It sucks that you are forced to see the man that you love, the father of your child, be in a marriage that no one wants, except for the erratic bitch he’s married to. I’m just the insensitive ass that brought it up.”

 

“Language.”

 

No matter how stressed out and emotionally drained Peter is, he can’t help but chuckle at the ridiculousness of Steve, who is older than civilization, correcting his nearly twenty-two  _ centuries _ old son, even if his laughter sounds dry and hollow. Steve smiles at him; this time it looks a little more natural, like the stress of the situation is melting off of him, even a little bit. Peter smiles right back at him, trying to ease the pain of the situation, “How old do I have to be for you to stop ‘language’ing me? Actually, I take that back; you still do that to  _ dad _ , who is practically older than time, so I don’t think I’ll ever escape your censoring.”

 

The smile across Steve’s face spreads even larger as some of the stress on their conversation is lifted. Steve chuckles as he says, “Well, Peter, you know-“

 

“Your Highness, I’m sorry to interrupt your call, but His Majesty has been requesting your presence for the past thirty minutes and refuses to leave the table until you arrive.” 

 

Peter doesn’t have to turn around from where he stands on one of the balconies facing towards the Isles of the Blessed, the only place with anything growing that isn’t asphodel, to know that it is one of the ghastly skeleton-zombie hybrid monsters that his new  _ husband _ keeps around as servants. The frigid, expressionless tone clearly shows that the thing addressing him is nowhere close to living, and neither is the putrid smell of death that lingers with some of them, particularly this one. Being reminded of the situation that he has been forced into brings back the frustration that the easy conversation with his pops pushed away. Peter lets out a long sigh that rivals any of Steve’s after Tony stumbles home drunk and leans away from the cascading water, without turning his head to actually face the servant, to bark back, “I told you I would be right there.”

 

The servant takes another step forward, clouding Peter’s nose with the strange rotting smell and making his presence as a sentinel to Peter’s prison very clear; not that Peter could ever forget it. All this conversation with Steve was for nothing, like he’s screaming at the wall of his solitary confinement, asking for some sort of escape or withdrawal of his sentence, but it does nothing to change the state of his life sentence. A life sentence that is a literal _ eternity _ . The guard says in the same emotionless, distant tone of voice like their talking through water that the whole Underworld seems to exist in, “If His Majesty does not return to his obligations soon, the souls will become restless. We cannot afford another riot on our hands, so please, I implore you, come eat with him.”

 

Although he may be currently throwing a tantrum worse than any six year old withheld the unicorn plushie at a carnival game, Peter is not unreasonable. He may hate his new husband to high hell and back, but he knows that the stability of the Underworld is fragile, privy to topple over with too heavy of a breath. The strong wording of the message from the apparition directly contradicts the bland voice that is delivering it, but Peter ignores the shivers that this type of creature has always given him, even when he was still free to roam on the Earth above. He turns back to the Iris message with a forlorn look, a knot settling in his stomach as he looks at Steve’s sad yet resigned face; there’s no question he heard the entire conversation. Peter forces a smile for Steve’s benefit, though he knows that it will do very little to settle his pops’ dread, “I’ll call you back as soon as I can, okay? Please take of yourself and say hi to dad for me. I love you. Oh, and please try to stop freezing over the earth. It’s already hard enough to deliver flowers down here.”

 

Steve tries to laugh, but it comes off as a choked sob and it breaks Peter’s heart. Steve puts his hand as close to the Iris message as he can without ending it, and Peter meets his hand there, “I love you, Peter. Please take care of yourself.”

 

“I love you too, Pops.”

 

Peter ends the message with a quick flick of his hand through the falling water before he can burst into tears again, and turns back to face the apparition that had interrupted him moments before, “Tell Wade I’m only doing this for the benefit of the world, not because I want to see him.”

 

The apparition collapses into the ground with only the remanence of disrupted dirt and a small asphodel blossom to show that it was there moments before. Peter lets out a long sigh as he runs his hand through the hair, and dusts off his favorite blush pink robes Steve had sent down to try to brighten his mood, but it only looked like a ghastly hint of coral in the strange hue that settles over the entire Underworld. Peter lets out a long sigh and readjusts the flowers settled in his hair, trying to stall for as long as he can, not wanting to see his...husband. 

  
  


When there is no more elements of his outfit to adjust, Peter lets out yet another long sigh, almost feeling the frown lines form on his face. Finally, he starts the journey through the palace, trying to avoid glancing at the moaning souls wailing in agony trapped in the walls, their cries reduced to white noise, and the faded claw marks dug through the empty spaces from creatures long since forgotten. The ceilings are too high to see and there is only the faint lighting resting over the entire Underworld to aide his walk, leaving an unsettling, dank feeling in the hall as he makes his way to the most horrifying part of the entire palace: the person whose mind created it. 

  
  


As he approaches the two large, heavy dark wood doors, the sentinels that stand on either sides nod their heads in acknowledgment before swinging the doors open. Peter closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before taking a step into the room, any reassuring feeling he had gotten from his talk with Steve washed away completely as he takes in his surroundings. When Peter looked back up to the endless banquet table set with vases decorated in depictions of the most morbid murders filled with asphodels and two place mats on either side of the table, Peter sees his new husband standing at attention for Peter’s entrance. 

  
  


Peter refuses to show any sign of respect, not even averting his eyes, not wanting to show even a glimpse of fear at the monster of a man in front of him, so he keeps eye contact as he gracefully walks over to his obvious place at the table. His husband,  _ Wade _ , is a bulky man, obviously heavy with defined shoulders and a cinched waist. Long, onyx black robes waft around him as he stands, the crown of distorted finger bones shifting in his sandy blond locks as he adjusts his head to follow his husband’s movements crossing the room. A large smile fills Wade’s face as he follows Peter’s path towards him; its cheerful, nearly blinding feeling is an unsettling contrasts with the muffled wailing and inky black robes. Peter looks down at his food and grimaces, refusing to touch anything in this damned place. Finally being fed up with the act of defiance, Peter breaks eye contact to look away towards the left wall. 

  
  


There is the sound of awkward shuffles across from him, but Peter refuses to break his heavy stare from the deep purple walls that look like long ignored bruises, feeling like one of the trapped souls wailing to no end. Peter wants to smack himself for how overly emotional he sounds, but feels like he’s justified in the moment. Wade’s gruff voice in the chipper timber he always addresses Peter with breaks Peter’s thoughts of long abandoned gardens, “You look amazing as always! Have I told you how much I love that robe? It makes you look damn right delectable, baby boy! How have you enjoyed your stay so far?”

  
  


Peter huffs and finally turns away from the wall, leveling an icy stare at Wade, trying to show him the rage that Peter has had little outlet for in the past week. Wade’s eyes drop away from Peter’s and his smile fades from his face, his fingers twitch around the fork he’s holding and send a noodle rolling across the table. Peter coldly says without breaking eye contact with the Wade’s cast away eyes, “Is  _ that _ what you’re calling this? A  _ stay _ ?”

  
  


The sound of Wade’s long sigh fills the room, a sound Peter has come accustomed to, and the spirits in the wall wreath, struggling to break free even harder than their usual clawing. Peter tries to block them out as he continues to glare at Wade, who has finally looked up again but is smiling with a little more force but that only seems to add to the ghastly feeling of it. In a strained cheery voice that grates on Peter’s nerves, Wade tries to start up conversation again, “How did your call with Steve go? What’s The Captain up to besides, you know, freezing over the world and damning all harvests? I didn’t want to interrupt but he, and anyone else, is more than welcome to stop by and visit. Either way you will be able to see them again in a couple months, right?”

  
  


Peter just stares at him. Was that suppose to be  _ comforting?  _ To make Peter feel better about being _ trapped here? _ To make it not seem like  _ the prison _ that it is? Great, fuck yes, he gets  _ visiting hours. _ Wade’s smile slowly fades the longer the silence drags out with Peter’s heavy glare as the king’s eyebrows scrunch together in desperation. His soft eyes drop down to stare at his food, as he softly says, barely above a whisper, “I will give you anything, Peter. You are my wife, my baby boy. I’d do anything as long as it would make you happy.”

 

Barely able to hold the scoff bubbling in his throat, Peter says with increasing volume, “Then let me _ leave _ . Give me back these nine days and never take anymore. End this stupid marriage and just let. Me.  _ Leave. _ ” 

 

Wade lifts his gaze to Peter with soft eyes, looking almost on the brink of tears, and a deep frown etched into his chiseled face, “You know I can’t do that. You’re mine. You have to stay mine.”

 

Peter stands up right abruptly, done with this pretense of domestic living as his chair topples over onto the floor. He glares down at Wade, who flinches away from his look, and with a huff he turns to dash out of the door. He’ll go to the one place of refuge he has, even if it’s barely anything at all, but at least his room has something  _ living _ in it, even if it’s not him.

 

As he turns toward the doors leading him out of this new kind of hell, he is met with the emotionless faces of one of the ghouls. Peter crosses his arms, feeling all the parts of a petulant child, and commands in his best queen voice, “Let me go. I am done here.”

 

“You have not been dismissed, Your Highness.”

 

“Let him go, Nergal. I shouldn’t need to remind you that he has free reign of the palace,” Peter refuses to turn around and show his husband any form of gratitude, but Wade appears to be equally as annoyed by the actions of this ghoul.

 

“Sir, if I may-”

 

“You may _ not _ . That is a direct order. Stand down,” Only on a few occasions Peter has heard Wade’s ‘king voice’, but it is unsettling every single time. The foundations of the building quake as his booming voice fills the hall and the wailing from the walls grows louder, to the point of drowning out the rattling of the ghouls bones. Peter tries not to show any fear, but he can feel his hands shaking by his side. If Wade can do this much damage with his voice alone when a ghoul waits too long on an order, what would he do when he undoubtedly gets fed up with Peter?

 

When the ghouls steps aside, Peter darts out of the room as fast as he can.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“He’s your husband. You should at least  _ try  _ to talk to him. What’s the point of spending a lifetime with him, if you guys are never going to make any attempt at trying to talk?”

 

“It’s not like I  _ chose _ to spend the rest of my life with him.”

 

“I know and I wish you didn’t have to, but at this point it doesn’t look like you have another option, so why not make the best of it? Tony must have seen at least  _ something _ in his drunk mind to let you marry him, so why not look for it?”

  
  


“You and I both know dad does not make the best decisions sober, and it only gets worse with the right mix of ambrosia and scotch.”

  
  


“But he usually has  _ some _ sort of sense behind it.”

  
  


“Like getting that girl in Aetolia pregnant? As a  _ goose _ ?”

  
  


“I said  _ some _ sense, not a lot,” Even if they were disagreeing, it was nice to share a chuckle for a moment before Steve leveled Peter with ‘dad eyes’ through the shimmering water, looking ever like he belongs in a relationship with the god of gods, “Peter, I know you, and I know that you always find the good in people.”

  
  


“That’s when there’s good to find.”

  
  


“And there always is. You just need to give it a chance to surface.”

  
  


Before Peter can continue their argument with the rebuttal on the tip of his tongue, Steve ends the call with a powerful wave of his hand. 

  
  


Peter sits down on his bed internally warring. Steve very rarely argues with anyone, let alone Peter. He makes a good point too. Peter has never been one to judge someone from rumors, but looking around Peter’s own room, Wade’s ghastly effect is clear, no matter how much Peter tries to cover it up. The dark dankness of the realm seems to seep into the room from the cracks in the marble, slowly killing all of the flowers Peter has scattered around the room in an attempt to mask the omnipresent smell of rotting. The room has this strange film covering it that matches every corner of the Underworld that can’t be covered no matter how many fairy lights Peter strings. No matter how many potted plants Peter sets on the balcony, it will never outnumber the heart wrenching moans from the Fields of Asphodel. Adding decorations to this room doesn’t hide what it truly is: a cell where Wade is the only thing keeping him trapped. 

 

Peter’s head rests in his hands when one of the ghoul’s soft, bland voice breaks through the soft Marian Hill Peter plays to drown out the constant groaning and screaming that never ends in this hell. Peter doesn’t even look up when the ghoul begins to address him, “Dinner will be served in twenty minutes if you would like to join His Majesty, or it can be brought to your room if you prefer, Your Highness.”

 

It’s clear even in this emotionless address that the ghoul expects Peter to turn it away, asking for his dinner to be brought to his room and the rest of the palace shut out. Maybe Steve is right. Maybe Peter should try to escape his own suffering, find a little good in this situation. With a long sigh, Peter looks down at his hands in his lap, paler than they used to be with ash caked under his nails instead of soil, “I would prefer to have dinner with...my husband. Tell him I will join him in twenty five minutes. I just need to freshen up a little.”

 

Without waiting for a response, Peter stands up and stares at the ghoul, almost challenging it to voice the confusion that is clear in its frozen stance. The ghoul’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times which is made even more unsettling because it is missing half of its jaw. After a few moments of this challenging silence, the ghoul nods and then crumbles to the ground in its usual manner of exit. Peter sighs as he leans over to clean up the soot, grumbling out about conservation of mass.

 

Once Peter has effectively gotten rid of the black stain on his carpet that is so common of an occurrence that his white carpet has now turned a faint gray, Peter stares blankly at his open closet. None of his outfits look right. They either look too dull and distorted from the strange hue of the Underworld or neon against the muted atmosphere. Peter lets out a long sigh before he picks the closest thing to looking presentable, a soft mint chiton with metallic maroon designs flowing seamlessly through the fabric. He cinches the copper belt tight around his waist to hold together his outfit before slipping on a flower crown with tightly woven olive branches, mint, and ivy. Peter spares himself a quick glance in the mirror but hesitates a second longer, taking in the image of himself. 

 

Since Peter has been down trapped here, there hasn’t been many moments when he has wanted to stop and look at himself, but now that he is he can’t seem to turn away. He’s so pale. Usually his skin is tanned by the constant hours Peter spends - spent outside tending to his garden. Now, the only lighting he gets is the strange down cast from the glowing stalactites protruding down or the fires burning in the Fields of Punishment that do little for his complexion. Peter can’t help but run his fingers over his pale face and realises that his cheekbones stick out more than they used to. He must have lost weight without realising it from his lack of appetite and frequent skipping of meals. His eyes catch the tips of his fingers still dyed black from cleaning up the leftovers of the ghoul and Peter immediately snaps his hand back down to his side, abruptly turning towards the door and heading out. The Underworld has changed Peter too much to the point where he’s not quite sure if he even recognizes himself.

 

Peter strolls into the dining hall with his head held high and his shoulders pushed back, his robes billowing around him as he walks like waves crashing at his feet. Peter feels unstoppable as all of the ghouls immediately avoid eye contact, yielding their positions and ducking their heads to his powerful march as if scared of him. Wade’s widening, icy eyes and slack jaw showing sharp teeth makes Peter’s chest puff even more; his walk had the exact effect he wanted. Peter is a force of nature, not one to be trifled with. If he’s the queen of the Underworld, he damn well deserves to be respected like one.

 

Gracefully, Peter slides into the same seat he’s been avoiding for weeks and stares at the man across from him in almost the same bruise purple robes and boney finger crown. Wade looks at him with a bright smile, so wide it looks like it hurts. Peter ignores it and instead stares him dead in the eyes, trying to steal his confidence against the ever present wailing, “I will agree to eat meals with you,” Wade readjusted his sitting and leaned forward, resting his head on his hands in intrigue, “Honestly, I haven’t been fair to you. You weren’t alone in trapping me...here, and you deserve to be given the same benefit of the doubt my father is.”

  
  


Wade’s impossibly wide smile appears to widen even more, looking like his cheeks would burst at the added pressure. It should be a disturbing sight, especially with his impossibly sharp teeth covered in the blood of his rare steak, but Peter forces himself to smile back. Wade leans forward as if to start saying something, looking almost ready to burst with energy, but Peter raises a hand to silence him. It works; Wade leans back without question, the same smile still spread across his face, even if he begins to lick the blood of of his teeth. Peter swallows around the anxiety growing in his throat, “I have a caveat though. If I  _ ever _ see you outside of a meal time, I will never leave me room again.”

  
  


That seems to be the only thing that could break the face splitting smile on Wade, because the corners of his mouth fall like the string holding them up was cut. Wade’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion, but Peter doesn’t break eye contact with him, holding his ground firmly, even if his hands tremble in his lap. Wade looks off to the side of the room with his eyebrows stitched together, “Coatlicue, come here.”

 

A ghoul that Peter has seen on a few occasions with a distorted skull as if bashed in with a club assembles itself behind Wade’s right shoulder, and Wade leans back without even looking. The ghoul leans forward to hear him, and Peter can do nothing but stare at the quiet exchange of some form of commands. Peter’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and fear starts to creep in on the corner of his mind, suppressing the urge to cower in fear. There’s no way Wade would concoct some sort of punishment for his outspokenness, right? Wade was smiling when he first stood up, he’s happy for him...right? Dread hunches Peter’s shoulders the longer Wade gives orders to the ghoul, whose bones have started to clatter from tremors rocking its body. 

 

Finally, Wade leans away from the ghoul with a somber face before the servant collapses to the ground in the usual black pile of soot. He turns back to Peter with a smile on his face, but Peter can’t tell exactly how forced it is. With a strange sense of finality, Wade picks up his utensils to continue cutting his meat before saying offhandedly, “How was your day then?”

 

“What did you just tell Cotelakoo?” 

  
  


Peter can feel his face heating up in a mixture of embarrassment and frustration as a sly smile spreads across Wade’s face. A knowing annoyance floods Peter as Wade leans forward with a crooked smile, “What was that name you just said, because it sounded really fucking wrong.”

  
  


With an indignant huff and a roll of his eyes, Peter says, “What kind of a name even is that?”

 

“You mean Coatlicue?” Wade looks too condescending as he corrects him, like Peter is some sort of adorable thing that is too precious to be wrong. Peter wants to smack that satisfaction off his face but knows far worse could be happening to him then a few patronizing looks, “She’s from Aztec mythology.”

 

Minorly interested with the new information, Peter says flatly, “That’s neat.” 

 

The know-it-all smile never leaves Wade’s face as he says, “Pronounce it with me: Co-at-li-cue. It’s pretty phonetic.”

 

“Co-at-lick-oo?” Peter rolls his eyes at the childish treatment, trying to hide his frustration with not being able to say the name.

  
  


“Pretty close. You’ll get it. All of their names are pretty simple. Nergal, Nephthys, Kalma, and Coatlicue are my main servants. Coatlicue is the only one you need to know anyways.” Wade introduces them by gesturing to each in turn, but Peter can’t see any defining difference between them besides Coatlicue with the deformed skull under the rotting, semi see through skin.

  
  


“How do you tell them apart?”

 

“They all have their very individual personality. I have no doubt you’ll figure it out soon. I’ve heard that you’re very smart.”

 

“And where did you hear that?” Peter knows that Wade very rarely ever talks to the other deities, having only seen the other god twice himself before this, so he honestly wants to know where he’s getting his information.

 

Wade looks around the dining hall as if he’s avoiding making eye contact with Peter, or searching for anyway to change the conversation, but Peter refuses to bale him out. He simply starts to cut into the steak set in front of him, thankfully more cooked than Wade’s that is literally bleeding. Wade smiles at him, “How are you liking the food here?”

 

Around the mouthful Peter has started to chew, he points his fork at Wade accusingly, “You are not going to change the topic that easily. Who have you been talking to about me?”

 

“What, am I not allowed to be a little inquisitive about my wife?” With a crooked smile, as if he thinks the compliment is going to release him from the questioning.

 

“Why don’t you just get to know the answer yourself?” Peter finishes chewing and leans back in his chair with his arms crossed, staring Wade down.

 

A cheshire grin spreads across Wade’s face as he tilts his head to the side playfully, “And you were just so forthcoming with answers about yourself, now weren’t you?”

 

Peter can feel the question itching at him, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold off getting the answer. He’s been told the story from an embarrassed, and very hungover, Tony but he’s never heard it from the man himself, “Then why did you marry me?”

 

Wade doesn’t hesitate before answering, without an ounce of embarrassment, “Because you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. I asked your father about you, and it made me fall even more in love, all the stories of how kind, intelligent, and spirited you are. I wanted you to breath a little life down here, even if you didn’t want me around.”

  
  


“So you really just wanted me to walk around down here, not caring if I loved you or if you even ever saw me. How could you - that doesn’t even - what kind of logic is that?”

  
  


Owlishly blinking at Peter as if the question is ridiculous, never having crossed his mind, Wade shrugs before saying nonchalantly, “I guess there isn’t really one. It was kind of just an impulsive thing, and your father was offering so I thought maybe you could learn to tolerate me, or at least learn to tolerate this kingdom,” Wade’s expression quickly hardens from its carefree attitude as he says, “I’m sorry to do this to you though. I never thought of it as a trap.”

  
  


“Then why did you do it?”

  
  


“I just told you.”

  
  


“No. Why do you keep me here?”

  
  


“When did this become twenty questions?”

  
  


“Why do you always avoid answering that?”

  
  


“Why are you trying so hard to appear tough?”

  
  


“Excuse me?” Peter had to take a double take at Wade from the quick change in topic. 

  
  


“Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s a great look. Honestly, anything is a good look on you, especially that robe because damn does baby boy have legs for days, and those strings of ivy goes perfectly with your hair and the designs on the bottom. How do you always look so perfectly put together?,” After a few blinks at Peter who he was previously eyeing up, obviously having lost his train of thought, Wade’s face quickly turns serious as he asks, “But, back to my main point which I don’t think is digging myself a word hole, you strolled in here looking like the fucking goddess you are, the queen of the Underworld, but I can see the fear in your eyes. No matter how hard you try, you eyes won’t lie.”

  
  


Peter stares at him hard for a minute in complete silence, letting the accusation flood over them both, but Wade never looks apologetic. Instead, he looks completely satisfied with himself, like this is exactly what he wanted. The realization dawns on Peter.  Although he’s slightly confused by the reasoning, Peter knows the answer without even having to ask, “Are you trying to piss me off?”

  
  


Tilting his head to the side, the cheshire grin spreads back across Wade’s face, contradicting his words, “What _ ever _ do you mean my dear baby boy?”

  
  


“Let me rephrase that:  _ Why _ are you trying to piss me off?”

  
  


“Is it working?”

  
  


“Why are you  _ constantly _ trying to distance yourself?”

  
  


It’s Wade’s turn to double take at the change in topic, looking almost as if someone slapped him. His face turns stone solid and completely blank as he responds, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

  
  


“Yes you do!” Peter stands up overcome with emotions, his arms spreading wide as he looks around at all the horrifying decorations spread around the great hall, “This is all a rouse. There’s no way you like having all this darkness and horrific stuff around. You brought me here to breath  _ life _ , so how would you like all this  _ death _ ? So why do you do this? Why do you put on this big charade? Who are you trying to impress?”

  
  


“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Wade’s jaw is locked hard, looking like he’s gritting his teeth behind his pinched lips.

  
  


“I may not know you, but you can’t call me out for pretending when you’re the biggest faker.”

  
  


Wade stares at Peter hard for a few moments, almost seeming to goading him to keep talking. Peter mirrors his husband’s expression and clenches his jaw tightly, tilting it up in challenge. After a few more minutes of tense silence, Wade bursts into laughter. The stress in Peter’s shoulders relax as Wade hunches over, holding his stomach as he lets out booming laughter. Peter can’t help but start to chuckle, giving into the ridiculousness of the situation, of the failed attempts at goading each other. He sits back down, still trying to suppress his laughter. He puts his hand on top of Wade’s and quietly says to the still laughing man, “I think we can breath a little life down here together, husband.”

 

With a look of utter astonishment, Wade looks up to meet Peter’s eyes, both sparkling with mirth and unshed tears of laughter. A big, dopey smile spreads across both of their faces, as they truly connect as a married couple for the first time. Wade turns his hand to hold Peter’s, “I think I’d like that. I think we can make this work, husband.”

  
  


They dissolve into laughter again, feeling the weeks of stress fall off in waves of whole hearted laughter. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The next few days, Peter spends mostly wandering through the gardens that start to grow in the courtyard. There is no doubt in his mind that it’s Wade’s doing from the conversations they’ve had towards livening up the place, and Peter smiles as he sees all of his favorite flowers scattered among lilies and chrysanthemums. There has also been a growth in the number of flowers sent to his room, each with a personalized message said through the language of flowers. Most were simply kind words of longing or absence most likely sent by Steve who sadly forgot that Peter spending more time with Wade means less time to video chat. There are few though that Peter keeps next to his bed with sweet declarations of unending love written with lilac and honeysuckle. 

  
  


Peter looks around before locating the ghoul, Coatlicue, that usually hovers close to him. He tries to dust off his dirt stained hands as best as he can on his muddy slacks before standing up, “Hey, Coatlicue, do you know where Wade is?”

  
  


“His Majesty is preparing for dinner. It shall be served in thirty minutes if you were hoping to talk to him. If not, I can inform him you were hoping to wander the grounds so he’ll remain in his chambers.”

  
  


Confusion scrunches up Peter’s eyebrows as it has the few times he has caught the ghoul saying similar, things, but he just lets out a long sigh knowing that he never gets a satisfactory answer, “No, it’s okay. I should shower and change before dinner anyway.”

  
  


Coatlicue nods before fading back into the corner where they were standing sentry. Peter lets out a long sigh before heading back to his room, feeling the ghoul giving him a respective distance but still following him closely. He doesn’t know why it’s started, but Coatlicue has begun following him everywhere almost four days ago, but Peter is not about to argue because at least Coatlicue doesn’t have that overwhelming rotting smell like some of the others, but just a smell of decaying flowers, sickeningly sweet but giving off an unsettling feeling. Peter quickly showers and redresses with the thick smell of decomposing magnolia choking him. He drapes himself in a buttercream yellow tunic with a black and gold border that falls off of one shoulder before taking a deep breath of the cleansing smell of his room, now filled with fresh flowers. 

  
  
  
  


When Peter arrives at the table, Wade is already sitting with a large grin, “How were the gardens this evening?”

  
  


“Wonderful. I love the new addition of the pink cleome. They look so nice next to the lilies, especially with the new natural light lanterns you set up. Would you like to go for a walk to look at them once we finish dinner?”

  
  


Wade pauses for a moment, staring down at his fork full of food, not moving at all. Peter’s not even sure if he’s breathing. After a few moments of this awkward frozen state where he must have been internally warring, Wade lifts his eyes to meet Peter’s, “Would you like me to bring a dessert with us?”

  
  


Peter has to blink a couple times.  _ Where did that come from?  _ Peter cautiously asks, “Why?”

  
  


Wade turns his eyes so they are looking just over Peter’s head, “Otherwise you’d be seeing me outside of mealtimes and I don’t want you to be locked away in your room. This kingdom is as much yours as it is mine; maybe even more.”

  
  


A few disconnected moments of fleeting foot steps down hallways and cryptic reasoning for changes in paths finally click in Peter’s mind and he feels dumb for missing it. Confused on how to properly approach the situation, Peter forces a smile through his guilty conscious, “Let’s finish eating and then I’ll grab a basket and we can eat strawberries outside. We can count that as an extension of meal time, okay?”

  
  


Wade nods and sets to work scarfing down all of his food, but managing to do it in a strangely endearing way that spreads a smile across Peter’s face. Following Wade’s example, Peter quickly finishes his plate, but in a much less animalistic way. Peter looks up once his plate is sufficiently clean to see Wade smiling down at him with his hands folded, obviously having finished a while ago and waiting for Peter to as well. Peter smiles at him a little uncomfortably, “Where would I go to get the basket and strawberries?”

 

“No need,” Wade smiles at Peter and then leans back, “Kalma, bring us a picnic basket filled with strawberries, assorted fruit, and whipped cream.”

  
  


Peter smiles at him until the creepy ghoul that always smelled of rotting corpses and famine appeared behind Wade holding out the aforementioned basket. Peter places it into the crook of his own arm, smiling at Wade who now has a blanket slung over one of his shoulders in a red and black plaid pattern with a bottle of wine and two glasses in his hand. 

  
  


“You can legally drink right?” 

  
  


Peter rolls his eyes, “Haha. Not funny.”

  
  


“I could never tell with that baby face.”

  
  


“Well, this baby face is twenty one centuries old, so you can fuck right off.”

  
  


“Aww. Still my baby boy. How can I resist pinching those cheeks?”

  
  


“You better or you will have a few broken fingers.”

  
  


“Well, I need to keep my dainty lady fingers for decapitations, so can you take care of them for me,” Wade smiles at Peter boldly but the hesitancy with which he extends his hands directly contrasts it, asking for a level of intimacy that has never been shared between them before, and Peter takes it without hesitation. A blinding smile spreads across Wade’s face as he squeezes Peter’s hand tightly, sending all of his bursting emotions through it, and they start walking out to the garden, hand in hand, matching each other stride for stride.

  
  


Once they make it to the set of large glass doors opening to the garden, Wade lets go of Peter’s hand to to gesture to the expansive courtyard with extended arms causing the blanket to slip off his shoulder slightly, “You know the place better than I do. Where do you suggest we sit?”

  
  


Peter, without a hint of hesitation, takes Wade’s hand again, dragging him to Peter’s favorite nook in the garden: an alcove created by hedges only accessible through an archway covered in climbing ivy. The base of the hedges is covered with a sprinkling of daffodils and calla lilies that Peter tends to every day, usually before he reads a book or listens to music. Wade gently spreads out the blanket, making sure not to catch any flowers in its descent, and places the bottle of wine and glasses next to the freshly positioned picnic basket. They stand in awkward silence for a moment, neither knowing how to continue this. Peter takes a deep breath before dropping to his knees in front of the flowers, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder at Wade who stands stoically at the opposite edge of the blanket, head turned at an extreme angle away from Peter, obviously uncomfortable. Peter smiles as he turns back to the flowers, taking a petal of a daffodil into his hand, “Daffodils are some of my favorite flowers. They embody spring and new beginnings. Whenever I look at them, they just feel like they hold the sun. I think they are exactly what this place needs.”

  
  


Barely above a whisper, Peter just makes out Wade say, “That makes you my daffodil.” 

  
  


Peter turns around expect to see his usual brand of sarcasm but Wade has a soft, sincere smile spread across his face showing that he means every word of the soft compliment. Peter looks down at his hands, not sure where to proceed with this, but Wade comes over and kneels next to him. Without looking at Peter, he gestures to the calla lilies, “And what significance do these have?”

 

With that, the night is spent detailing every last flower, tree, and bush with a few breaks for strawberry and wine. Peter recites each scientific name, flower language meaning, and has a story for almost every flower, and Wade looks on with clear wonder in his eyes. It only urges Peter on to go more in depth when he can remember small things, such as Thomas Jefferson’s favoritism of the cleome or Holland’s ancient price of tulips weighing more than gold. As the night grows, Wade shares his own stories, developing tangents of conversations that almost make them feel like a true couple. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“What is your plan for the day?”

 

Wade stops mid chew, placing his fork on the plate as he looks up at Peter with an assessing look. He slowly chews, as if he’s mulling over the food as much as he is the question. Peter takes a deep breath, on the verge of taking it back in case for some reason it offended his husband, breaking the tentative bond they are starting to form, but Wade opens his mouth before he can, “If you’re trying to avoid me, I’ve already set up for the servants to inform me when you’re getting close. I’m sorry if I’ve gotten on your nerves again. I don’t want you to feel like I forgot your declaration.”

 

“My declar...no Wade. No, I’m not trying to avoid you,” Peter lets out a deep breath, realizing that he almost forgot exactly why he’s down here. This isn’t just a little vacation with a socially constipated man, “I was just wondering if I could spend more time with you.”

 

The somber look that had spread across Wade’s face disappears in a burst of emotion, quickly replaced by a beaming smile and a booming voice, “Of course you can spend more time with me,” Wade turns to the side before saying with a huge grin, “Nergal, clear my whole schedule for the day.”

 

Peter raises his hands quickly, almost feeling frantic at Wade’s rash decisions, “Hey, I don’t think you need to go that far! You probably have important duties and stuff. I will just join you in whatever you already have scheduled.” All of the color drains from Peter’s face as he realises that he has nowhere close to as much power as he just made it appear that he does, “If I can of course! I don’t want you to feel like you  _ have  _ to spend time with me or have to let me into official meetings.”

 

“I don’t know if you actually want to join my schedule. It’s just going to be a boring day. Just listening to souls ramble about their life that was too morally dubious for the Judgment Pavilion. There’s rarely any fun ones. We could spend our day going out-”

 

“That sounds nice. Is it okay if I sit in?”

  
  


“Of course! I’d like to remind you that this is as much your kingdom as it is mine.”

  
  


Trepidation fills Peter as he takes in the quiet approval Wade is sending towards him finally stepping into his proper role of Queen of the Underworld. Peter looks down at his sea foam green chiton that cuts of just above his knees and muddy hands, “Should I change before we go?”

  
  


Wade lets out a booming laugh at Peter, “I don’t think my subjects will really care what you’re wearing. They’re dead anyway. And, I would torture them with my own bare hands if they even  _ thought _ to challenge you.”

  
  


With that ominous promise of his display of power, Wade turns away and strides towards the throne room, obviously unfazed by such a large declaration of suffering. Peter stands there feeling as if the wind was knocked out of him, remembering that no matter how nice Wade is to him, he is still a monster...but is he? What monster sends someone three plots worth of flowers when a single stem is snapped? Or demolishes a wing of the palace to expand the garden just because someone suggested that the courtyard was getting a little cramped? Or sits and eats sorbet made with strawberries that the said monster had just freshly picked, after a small break out of a fruit fight? But Peter has been lulled into forgetting that this is the same man who abducted him from his family, dragging him down into this literal hell, this prison without a single choice. This is the same man who throws around promises of torture and death as if it’s nothing. And it is to him. What has become of Peter that he has begun to believe that this monster is starting to lose his claws? That just by spending a little time with Peter the monster would lose his snarl? A monster is always a monster, no matter how much you can dream otherwise. 

  
  


A soft, emotionless voice breaks through Peter’s scrambling thoughts. Coatlicue appears across the table that Peter still has not stood up from, with the flower crown Peter made her this morning of baby’s breath and white cleome sitting crooked on her deformed head, “Are you okay, your highness?”

 

Peter lets out a long breath, not sure of the answer himself, but puts on a shaky smile, still not calmed from his unsettling train of thought. He forces his voice to be steady just as much for Coatlicue’s reassurance as his own when he says, “Yes. I’m okay  Can you please point me in the direction of the throne room.”

 

Peter walks into the throne room to see that the throne itself is unoccupied. The usual occupant is sitting in a slightly smaller throne, less ornate and missing the defining features of scattered skulls at the base. Peter looks at the throne that is clearly left absent for him to climb and turns to Wade, “Why aren’t you sitting in your throne?”

  
  


“I don’t know what you mean.” A familiar cheshire grin spreads across Wade’s face.

  
  


“Don’t pull this with me again. Why are you giving me the throne?”

  
  


“Because you deserve to be the one seen first. You should be the one in the center of the room, the center of the entire realm. I want you to be the first thing the lost souls see because you’ll be the light at the end of the tunnel.”

 

“You are the biggest sap I have ever met,” A large smile spreads across Wade’s face at Peter’s dejected declaration, “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit there. Please move into your proper place.”

  
  


“I’m in it.”

  
  


“No, you are the king, you deserve-”

  
  


“What is a king without his queen? I  _ am _ in my proper place, at your side. I don’t even deserve to be there, so please, husband, please take your seat.”

 

Peter meets Wade’s eyes, the shimmering blue seeming less like the cold ice he had first perceived but more like the rippling surface of a crystal clear ocean. Still not completely comfortable with the idea, Peter climbs up the throne, trying not to touch any of the obviously real skulls scattered around him. A ghoul that Peter has never seen before walks through the doors of the throne room, another first. This one is also the only to wear clothes. A heavy cloak that is too dark to even be called black weighs down its shoulder, the hood shrouding its slightly visible skull, a pure white instead of the off green of the other’s. Wade smiles at this unsettling creature for a moment while Peter takes in the entire effect, before the king commands, “Nephthys, bring in the first.”

 

With a small nod that sends the whole cloak rippling around it like a pebble thrown into a river, the ghoul- Nephthys opens the heavy doors and ushers in the quaking person, his chains clanking as tremors rack his entire body. The soul, still in his human form dressed in a suit more expensive than all of jewels on Wade’s crown, suggesting a possible lawyer or businessman. His scared eyes switch back and forth between Peter and Wade, attempting to assess who is the bigger threat. He drops to his knees after a heavy push downwards from Nephthys. Peter looks over at his husband only to see a shark like smirk adorning his face. Peter looks back at the man, knowing nothing good is coming to him if this is how Wade greets him. Swallowing the lump of fear forming in his throat, Peter sits stone still as Wade declares in his booming king voice, “And now what do I have in front of me?”

 

The mortal shakes from his position on the ground, groveling to Wade, “I-I’m so sorry. I realise now I made so many- god so many mistakes in my life. P-Please forgive me. I will do anything, anything you ask.”

  
  


“Shut your mouth,” The man follows with an audible click of his teeth, “Now, tell me your story.”

  
  


The man stares at Wade with turmoil surging behind his eyes before Wade nods, silently allowing him to speak again, “I-What do you mean?”

  
  


A cold expression spreads across Wade’s face, obviously displeased with that response. He slowly taps his fingers against his knee in a bored, pensive pattern, almost as if he’s goading the man kneeling in front of him to displease him again.

 

The man begins to shake harder, the effect of Wade’s posture obviously sending the intended message. As he all but grounds his head into the ground, the shivering racking the man’s body grows more intense, looking as if he’s on the brink of death. Wade snickers at his state. The man’s sobs grow in volume until he’s practically wailing, “I don’t- I don’t know w-what you want b-but I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! P-Please just let- let me go.”

  
  


Peter feels horrible just looking at the man who is sniveling at his husband’s feet, but not sure how he could help at this point. Wade looks at the man with disinterest as his begging has turned nearly hysterical, losing any meaning. Accompanied by a long sigh, Wade says completely dismissively, “Tell me why you’re in front of me, besides to get on my very last fucking nerve.”

 

The man stops his sniveling, his whole body tensing as he listens to Wade’s words, realizing that this is where he must confess his misconducts. His sobs grow in volume, becoming a pool of thick tears, wobbling apologies, and ugly snot. It’s clear that this man knows he’s made many, many mistakes in his life, but Peter feels almost bad, knowing he’s going to damn himself to punishment whether or not he chooses to answer Wade. Looking over to see Wade’s growing impatient look, he may be making his punishment worse by not answering.

  
  


Wade appears to have reached his quota of wordless sniveling as he leans forward in his chair, voice booming as he declares, “Nephthys, take this fucking mess of snot to the Fields of Punishment to continuously drown all the tears he’s shed in his little crappy life, never dying but just floating in the feeling of never breathing.”

  
  


With a single nod, Nephthys grabs the man by the back of his suit, dragging him out of the room as he screams and struggles. Wade growls in mild annoyance, “Hit him.”

  
  


Nephthys raises its hand with no emotion, striking down so hard the sound echoes around the room accompanied by the screams of the man. He bites his lip in attempt to silence his screams, trying to avoid another blow but he struggles only harder as his forced trail through the room continues. Wade waves his hand dismissively, “Continue until he stops fighting or goes unconscious.” 

  
  


Peter has to look away once Nephthys raises its hand again, but it only seems to make it worse as he can only hear the blood curdling scream as he faces a stone wall. He just can’t build the strength to turn back around though as the screams continue. His shoulders bunch up closer to his ears, wanting to get as far away from the sound but not able to in hopes of not turning his husband’s rage against him. Peter feels tears forming on the edge of his eyes when the room finally goes silent, only to be followed by the sound of the doors opening then closing with a bang. 

  
  


The spot on the wall continues to be very appealing even as Wade taps his husband’s knee. Peter won’t acknowledge him. He can’t. Wade removes his hand from Peter and quietly says, “You can leave if you want to.”

  
  


Peter just softly shakes his head, still avoiding looking at Wade. Peter can feel him lean away from him, and then in the same soft voice says, “What do you want me to do?”

  
  


“You can continue.”

  
  


The cases continue in much the same way: all sobbing uncontrollable, scared of their fate. Some are able to collect themselves enough to actually begin to tell their story, but Wade cuts them off if they go on for too long or he becomes bored with their stories, punishing them to a grossly over dramatic, eternal punishment. Peter has never felt more disgusted than as he looks over the proceedings of this throne room, but he bites his tongue and looks away if beatings get issued. Peter knows that he will never be able to get rid of the ringing sound of screams, and will never be able to unassociate it with his husband. All of his sweet memories of days spent in the garden are blinded by the shrieks of pain. If Peter thought his husband was a monster before, there was no word to describe what he thinks of him now. 

  
  


“Stop!”

  
  


Peter is surprised by his own voice, even if it is barely above a whisper, not even able to be heard above the screaming of yet another beating victim. Wade looks at him, eyebrows quirked in the beginning of concern, “What’d you say, husband?”

  
  


“Stop!” This time Peter yells it, his voice firm so it comes across as a command. His voice echoes around the throne room, and Nephthys hesitates with its hand poised, looking at Wade questioningly as if not sure to follow the orders. Peter leans forward in his throne, overcome with all of the brutal proceedings of the day and ready to send out another order.

  
  


Before Peter can continue his leap into action, Wade turns to Peter with soft eyes and an equally soft voice so only he can hear, “What do you have in mind my husband?”

  
  


“What?”

  
  


Wade’s voice grows softer, almost as if he’s on trial for his ill behavior and scared for his punishment, “You have just as much say in this room as I do. What do you think should be the punishment for this one?”

  
  


Peter is scared to challenge Wade, obvious that he can inflict pain without any care, but Peter can’t just sit and watch all of this pain get doled out without even _ trying _ to stop it, “Do they  _ really _ need to be punished? What did they even do to get brutally beaten?”

  
  


Using the same soft voice as if he’s explaining a simple problem to a scared child, Wade talks as if he’s expecting the question, “They disrespected my authority by not answering my questions.”

  
  


“They are obviously scared. Why don’t you give them time to readjust to the fact they’re  _ dead _ . It can’t be an easy fact to come to and then be yelled at by a big scary guy in a big scary throne. And then you  _ beat _ them for being scared. Don’t you see a problem with this?”

  
  


Wade looks at him confused, as if the thought never crossed his mind, “That’s just the way it’s always been.”

  
  


“But why?”

  
  


“Because it causes fear. How would this place run without fear?”

  
  


Peter snorts and can’t help but blurt out, “Probably a lot better.”

  
  


“What do you suggest then?” An inquisitive smirk spreads across Wade’s face at the whole conversation, and Peter lets out an exhale of relief at the complete lack of annoyance or anger present.

  
  


“Maybe sending less people to the Fields of Punishment and more to the Fields of Asphodel. It’s a punishment enough in itself. You lose yourself completely and have to wander completely lost. You’ll most likely have less riots as people won’t even know what they’re rioting for. Won’t have a reason to either. And  _ please  _ stop beating people for crying.”

  
  


Wade stares at him for a moment, almost as if he’s confused by the suggestion of not assigning torture and beatings. Peter is ready for him to get kicked out, scared the rage may even be turned against him, but after a few more seconds of simply blinking at Peter, Wade nods as if he’s come to a decision, “Okay.” Peter stares at him for a second, in shock, and Wade continues to nod, “Yeah, okay. That’s doable. I’ll try not to do as much, you know, punishing.”

  
  


“Or beatings.”

  
  


Peter is honestly surprised at the high keening sound that left Wade’s throat as if he’s a toddler throwing a tantrum and Peter’s eyes widen at the quick change in mood from the brutal murders, “But that’s half the fun.”

  
  


“You’re a monster.” Peter regrets saying it the second it leaves his mouth and barely restrains the urge to cover it with his hands, but he can’t look weak after just getting a say in the situation. 

  
  


Wade doesn’t look upset though, instead greeting the comment with a sharkish grin, “Looks like you’ve finally noticed the image I’ve spent the better part of an eternity trying to build.”

  
  


Peter can’t help but snort at the sarcastic yet so honest statement, and he turns back to the man still crumpled on the floor with Nephthys standing poised above them as if waiting for further orders than Peter’s earlier outburst. Peter calmly, for the sake of the injured and obviously distraught person, states, “You have been assigned to the Fields of Asphodel for the rest of eternity.”

  
  


That’s how the rest of the day goes. Wade assigning brutal, rash, completely unnecessary punishments and Peter giving him an emotional readjustment that Wade accepts without any question, simply agreeing to whatever Peter says without batting an eye. Peter feels powerful in these moments, like he truly is Wade’s equal. Maybe holding even more power than his husband. Peter could go crazy with all the power, but he knows that he’s going to use it to undo some of the damage Wade has done throughout his reign.

  
  


Although the day had a rocky start and an even rougher middle, the end is pleasant. Peter and Wade throw jokes back and forth in between their sentencing. They grow closer and gain even more respect for each other’s power, rather than just personalities, and it’s good for them. It’s also good for Peter to remember that his husband isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, to remember who he’s dealing with, to remember that his husband will never blink at the thought of inflicting torture or pain. The day is just  _ good _ for them.

  
  


After Peter and Wade are wrapping up their debate about which Spice Girl was better (“Baby Spice is a classic. How can she not be your favorite?” “I’m sorry, but anyone married to David Beckham has to be the best.” “Who can support someone called  _ Posh _ ?” “Get your British prejudice out of here.” “Don’t get me wrong, I love me a good Brit, hell, Andrew Garfield is half British and I think you’re gorgeous baby boy, but seriously,  _ POSH?” _ ), Peter is mid laugh when he looks up to Nergal standing post at the door. Wade looks at him slightly confused, “Where is the next one?”

  
  


“You have completed all of the judgements for the day, Your Majesty. There is an hour until dinner time if Your Majesty and Your Highness would like to prepare.”

  
  


Nergal dissipates into the ground with only the hint of bones and gems scattered around his previous spot once Wade has nodded his acknowledgement. Before he can lose his courage, Peter leans forward to kiss Wade on the cheek, putting all of his gratitude for a great day and growing affection into it. Peter pulls away to see Wade’s bright red face, his breathing heavy with the shock of it, and Peter rushes as he babbles out, “I really enjoyed today. I hope we can do it again soon. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  
  


What Peter does once he’s behind the closed door of his bedroom thinking about Wade’s blushing face and heavy breathing is his own business. All he knows is that he has to thoroughly wash his hands before dinner and he is absolutely fucked.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Why are you trying so hard to push everyone away?”

  
  


Today has been a lazy day for them both. There have been significantly less riots since the new orders have been served, so Wade has had even more time to spend with Peter. Most of the day has been spent in the garden, weeding and water together, planting new arrivals, and picking at finger food. As the day winds down, they stand in the kitchen making Steve’s special recipe mixed berry cheesecake when Peter can’t help but blurt out the question.

  
  


Wade turns to stare at him blankly before his face begins to harden, “I don’t know what you mean.”

  
  


Peter rolls his head back, slumping back against the counter in frustration, “Don’t give me that bullshit again. It’s been five months and I feel like I really  _ know _ you now. I just don’t get why you’ve been pushing everyone away. It’s clear that you’re lonely down here. So why not try to fill this castle with someone besides wailing wall spirits and monotone servants?”

  
  


“Because everyone just  _ loves _ vacationing down to this fucking creepy place, right?” Wade turns back to pouring the batter into the pan, obviously trying to be done with the questioning.

  
  


Refusing to give in, Peter forges on, “Then why don’t you make it less creepy?” 

  
  


Sliding the cake into the oven, Wade sounds exasperated, “Why do our conversations always become twenty questions?” 

  
  


“I would stop asking questions if you just fucking answered them.”

  
  


“You want a fucking answer?” 

  
  


Wade whips around, looking almost murderous, but Peter refuses to back down. Instead he takes a step forward, equally infuriated with the man and looking like it, “Yeah, if you aren’t a fucking asshole about it!”

  
  


“Well, your  _ dad  _ stole my wife and my daughter away from me forty centuries ago and I haven’t seen them a day since. My own fucking  _ kid  _ doesn’t want to be around me, so why the hell would anyone else? You said it yourself: I enjoy screams of pain and zombie servants while everyone else is off fucking around with mortals. Hell, they’re the ones that practically trapped me down here with all the brunt work for when they screw up. Who needs them? All anyone does is fuck, screw up, and leave,” Wade completely deflates once he’s finished yelling, all of the anger draining out of the both of them, replaced by differing emotions. Wade turns back to the oven before whispering to himself so quietly that Peter has to strain to hear, “What’s the point in keeping people around if they’re just going to leave?”

  
  


After a moment of internal conflict, Peter surges forward and wraps Wade up in a hug from behind, although it’s an awkward angle due to their height difference. Wade doesn’t make a move to return it at all, but Peter only squeezes tighter to show how much he means his words, “Because sometimes, even if they leave, they change you for the better.”

  
  


The room is filled with only Wade’s hollow laugh for a moment before he says quietly, “Is that what I’m suppose to be telling myself as I sit here alone in my giant ass haunted castle for the next six months, looking at where my wife used to be, my daughter used to be, and my husband who didn’t even choose to marry me will be in a few months only because he has to?”

  
  


Peter begins to open his mouth, trying to say something to shake of the melancholy moment shared between them, trying to find the right words to sooth the ache inside of Wade, but before he can the man breaks free from the embrace. Without a glance backwards as he sets the timer, Wade says with a wet laugh, “Hey you asked for answer. Sorry that means you get a look at my sorry excuse for a life. One thing that sucks about being immortal is that even death isn’t an escape.”

  
  


Peter looks down at his empty hands and realises that there’s nothing more he can do. All he can do is be there for Wade, show him that even if he is leaving in a few weeks, that he will always return. 

  
  


With a smile, Peter grabs the bowl of fruit set aside for the toppings and a knife to hand to Wade who’s been staring at the timer blankly for the past minute, “I know one way to help clear your mind is to put you to work with a knife.”

  
  


“Not the kind of thing I’d be hoping you’d put into my hand.”

  
  


A swat to the shoulder causes a volley of laughter and more exchanged jokes, but the weight is lifted off the situation if even for a moment.

  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s already been six months.

  
  


Peter can’t believe it because his time is coming to an end with Wade and it’s kind of a bittersweet feeling. On one hand, Peter is  _ so  _ excited to see his parents, and see the sun, and see his old garden again. To see people, alive and happy and  _ living _ . Peter wants to be on the surface world again, but that all involves leaving Wade. Wade who is the most torturous, murder happy person Peter has ever met but also the most considerate and caring. He’s a walking paradox, but somehow he makes it work.

  
  


Wade has put work into including Peter into every single decision made for his- their realm. Peter has become a regular in the throne room, now having matching thrones, although Peter’s is missing the bones, but they’re replaced with flowers they picked together. They spend all day together. They eat breakfast together, spend most of the day wrapped up in Wade’s study where Peter reads with his head in Wade’s lap who cleans his gun, interrupt their lounging around for lunch, then either Peter works on his accuracy in Wade’s weapon room or Wade expands his knowledge of gardening, then they eat dinner with light banter, and they end the day with a nice stroll through the gardens. They have fallen into a comfortable pattern, and Peter is growing closer to Wade every day. To the point where he can say he’s happy here.

  
  


With Peter spending so much time with Wade, calling his pops has almost become a side thought, rarely even remembered, and the calls have become shorter to the point of simply being a check in for them both before ending it. Peter feels bad about pushing his time with Steve to the side, but really he’s just taking his advice. He’ll see him tomorrow anyway.

  
  


Peter freezes where he lays in the gardens staring up at the distant stalactites. It’s already been six months out of his...stay and he’s down to only one more day. Time has flown by so fast and Peter has changed so much. Peter turns over to look at Wade, only to see his husband staring right back at him with all the wonder of the world in his gaze. With a self conscious snort, Peter swats Wade’s chest, “What are you doing?”

  
  


An expression passes over Wade’s face so fast that Peter nearly misses it before a soft smile replaces the quick contorting mere fraction of a second before, “Just thinking.”

  
  


With a soft smile, Peter completely rolls onto his side, bicep cushioning his head to look at his husband who remains staring at him with a soft smile that Peter mirrors, “And what exactly are you thinking about?”

  
  


Wade’s smile shifts from pleasant to having more of a teasing edge, “I am the King of the Underworld. I got a lot on my mind: orders to issue, my queen to woo, heads to cut off. The usual.”

  
  


“What about all of that ordering, wooing, and beheading has you staring at my face?”

  
  


“I like to look at pretty things, your face being among them, baby boy.”

  
  


“And what else would you say is among those?”

  
  


“You have a pretty nice butt if that’s what you’re asking,” Peter lets out a barking laugh at Wade’s blunt humor which he has begin to become accustomed to. Wade smiles right back at him, “I’m not going to lie, I’d love to thank your momma for a butt like that.”

  
  


“Oh, I have no doubt you would. You already said enough to my papa about it. I bet you would come to visit us just to wax poetry about it.”

  
  


Peter realises his mistake when Wade’s smile wavers, the edges falling just enough to show the hidden emotions storming underneath. Silence falls over them as Wade rolls onto his back, staring up blankly at the ceiling of the realm and Peter tries to formulate words for all of the thoughts running through his head. Peter wants so badly to reassure his husband that he’s really falling for him, that there is something starting between them, but there’s no way to get around the true reason for his sadness. Their time is coming to an end. No matter how much Peter feels for him, how much his opinion has changed over their time spent together, he can’t give up possibly his only his chance to see his pops, to see a living world for another half of a year. Peter is a creature of life and this place just wasn’t meant for him. He wants to tell Wade how he’s feeling, but the only thing it would do is make the situation worse.

  
  


So they just sit there in silence, not tense enough to be called awkward but not with clear enough air to be comfortable. The barrier that they had spent the majority of those five months breaking down is starting to be reconstructed with each minute passing by. Peter lets out a long sigh, being able to feel the growing space between them, so he places a hand on top of Wade’s that’s splayed over his stomach. Wade shifts his hand, their fingers twining together in a soft hold and Peter joins him in staring at the ceiling. Quietly, to the point where Peter can barely hear himself, Peter asks, “Can I kiss you?”

  
  


Wade’s fingers tense against Peter’s but Peter refuses to look over, too scared of the reaction next to him. Although Wade has made very clear remarks about the shape of Peter’s ass and many things he would be willing to do to it, it may all just be a joke. Peter doesn’t know what to do if he finally crossed the line.

  
  


Right as Peter begins to pull his hand away from Wade’s chest, his husband rolls over so he’s next to Peter, propped up on his elbow so he’s looming over Peter in a position to fill his request but far enough away that Peter could break free at any point. Peter licks his lips in anticipation and Wade’s eyes follow the movement before he asks in a slightly huskier voice, “Are you sure?”

  
  


“Please, Wade. I think- I think I may be, I just might be…,” Peter lifts his eyes from where he’s staring at their connected hands to meet Wade’s clear blue eyes shimmering with hope. Peter swallows down his fear, “Wade, I think I might just be falling in love with you.”

  
  


Where Peter expects to find the confidence he’s so use to from his husband, he is only met with pure fear and hesitation in Wade’s eyes. Peter leans forward to close the gap between their lips in hopes of the contact giving Wade the reassurance he needs, but Wade leans away from him, rolling completely off the blanket in a mess of flailing limbs.

  
  


Peter sits up, completely confused. He’s just given Wade what he has spent the past six months, and maybe even longer, hoping for and he does a failed attempt of a somersault to get away from it all? He looks over to where Wade crouches in an action stance a few feet away, as if anticipating another attack from Peter who is struggling to hold back a laugh at the ridiculous display. Barely able to get the words out around his frustrated laughs, Peter begins to say, “Wade, get your butt over here. I just want to give my husband a-”

  
  


“You know this isn’t Beauty and the Beast, right?”

  
  


Confusion furrows Peter’s eyebrows as he looks on at Wade’s pained expression, as if it hurts him to be this far away. Peter can’t hold back the question, “What the fuck are you on, Wade?”

  
  


“You do know that once you kiss the beast, I’m not turning into a prince with long luscious hair and a biteable ass. Even if you say that you love me, you try to lift the spell, you try to fix my horrible manners, I will always stay the beast. You can’t change that no matter how hard you try.”

  
  


“I want to kiss you because I’m falling in love with you, not some crazy idea that I’m going to fix you. You don’t need fixing because you’re not broken. So get your already totally biteable butt over here and give me a kiss.”

  
  


As opposed the full arm tackle Peter has braced himself for after a confession like that, Wade gets up as fast as he can and sprints back into the palace. Peter flips over so he’s face first into the blanket that has now become their official picnic blanket and lets out a long groan. 

  
  
  
  
  


Wade doesn’t show up to dinner. When Peter walks into the hall with Wade’s favorite mint chiton on in hopes of apologizing, Kalma greets him a few steps into the hall with her usual smell of putrid corpses, and says in her detached voice, “Your Majesty regrets to inform you that he will not be joining you for dinner this evening.”

  
  


Peter is barely able to hold back a tantrum that would put even the brattiest toddler to shame and instead sits down at the table, which holds an assortment of his favorite foods spread out, in hopes that Wade will join him later in the evening once he realises how ridiculous he’s being.

  
  


He never joins him.

  
  
  
  
  
  


With a huff, Peter looks down at all of his baggage that he was just barely able to squeeze into the suitcases provided the night before. He stands outside of the palace gates, waiting for the exact moment his six months are up for Charon to chauffeur him to his awaiting pops. Peter holds back tears as he looks around, realizing Wade isn’t even going to show up to say good bye. 

  
  


As he looks out at the distance over the River of Styx, Peter nearly falls in when a soft voice behind him startles him, “Would it be okay if we joined you?”

  
  


Peter turns around to Wade standing in plum purple robes bellowing around him as if a fierce wind affected him alone, but it only added to his powerful effect. Behind him, all four of the ghouls stood at a respectful distance, all clearly wishing to see Peter off. He has to bite his bottom lip in an attempt to hold back the tears forming in his eyes. 

  
  


Coatlicue takes a step forward, extending her arms out with a bouquet of Forget-Me-Nots, yellow tulip buds, and rosemary twined together in a bursting flower crown that is messily held together, obviously put together with stiff, clumsy hands. Tears start rolling down Peter’s face as he accepts it, taking a few steps forward before bowing his head in a supplicant manner. He feels the flowers gently ruffle his hair as they are placed and he can’t hold back the ugly fat tears streaming down his face. With a smile, Peter takes Coatlicue hands into his own, and gently squeezes them and she nods back at him, the closest thing to emotion she can show. With the same even tone she always addresses him with, she quietly tells him, “Your highness, if I may say so, you brought the sun down to this damned place and your presence will be missed by all. Please return to us, your highness.”

  
  


Finally losing his already thin grasp on his emotions, Peter lunges forward and wraps his arms around his personal ghoul, tears streaming down and smudging the thin layer of dirt that covers her shoulders. Stiff arms wrap around his back, a soft chattering sound filling his ears that appear to be calming coos. Peter sniffles against her shoulder for a few more seconds before leaning back, a semi see through hand reaching forward to wipe a tear off of his cheek. With one last reluctant squeeze Peter pulls away from the closest thing to a friend he has had down here and turns back towards his husband. 

  
  


Wade isn’t even looking at him. Peter can almost taste the anger bubbling up from his stomach. He has spent the past day being ignored by his husband, completely left by himself, abandoned as if his  _ husband _ who  _ forced him down here  _ doesn’t care that it was his last day. 

  
  


Peter surges forward and grabs Wade by his shoulders, shaking him a little as he forces him to face him. It’s satisfying to see the look of shock plastered onto Wade’s face, but Peter is too furious to be pleased. Peter’s nose is nearly touching Wade’s from how angry he is, but refuses to think about it as he begins to reprimand, his voice louder than he intended with all of the bursting passion inside him, “Where the  _ hell _ do you get off ignoring me on my last day here when you forced me to be here for  _ six months _ .  _ Against my will. _ No, I’m not letting you reject me like that. I don’t  _ deserve _ that. What is  _ wrong  _ with you? You can’t just-” Peter’s speech stops for a moment as he hiccups with a sob, “You can’t just _ leave _ me.”

  
  


Wade raises his hand to wipe away the tear rolling down Peter’s cheek, ignoring the mirroring tear rolling down his own. His clear blue eyes are bursting with unspoken emotions as Wade quietly says, “I couldn’t put up with you leaving too.”

  
  


“Then why even bother coming out at all?” Peter can’t hide the hurt and need pouring through the simple question.

  
  


“Because I knew it would kill me even more if I let you leave thinking I didn’t fucking love you too.” More tears follow the track of the first one down Wade’s face, his voice wavering from the weight of his emotions, “Peter, I think I might just be falling in love with you. Can I kiss you?”

  
  


Peter smacks him across the chest, hard. Wade grunts out a laugh, but Peter surges forward, connecting their lips in a way that feels so right, like it should have happened along time ago. Peter wraps one of his hands around the back of Wade’s head, pulling him even further into the kiss, and Wade wraps an arm around Peter’s waist so they are touching from head to toe. The kiss may stay closed mouth, but in no way does it lack the intensity of anything else. It’s almost as if the ground shakes beneath them.

  
  


They pull apart with a wet popping sound and they laugh. Peter leans forward and squints at Wade, reaching his hand up to stroke across his face as if searching. Wade laughs again as he swats away Peter’s face, “What the fuck are you doing?”

  
  


“I think you did have a magical change,” Peter looks at him with a huge smile on his face and Wade is leaning forward to give him another kiss, but Peter grabs his face and leans away, looking at him sideways, “Oh wait, nope, you’re still an asshole.”

  
  


“Hey!”

  
  


Peter bursts into laughter at Wade’s indignant sound. They rest their foreheads together for silent lovers’ moment before Wade whispers, “I think this is the moment where you ask to marry me.”

  
  


With another laugh, Peter teases, “I think it’s a little late for that. But yes.”

  
  


Wade scrunches his eyebrows in confusion for a second, baffled by the ending of his statement, “What?”

  
  


A coy smile graces Peter’s lips, “You never actually asked  _ m _ e to marry  _ you _ , but I’m saying yes now. I will marry you, Wade, but don’t believe for one second that I’m not taking advantage of the six months of vacation time,” Obviously trying to suppress the slight unease spreading through his stance, Wade starts to say something but Peter kisses him silent before continuing, “But that doesn’t have to start today. I think my pops can wait.”

 


End file.
